To WAR
by ValerieStone
Summary: Third and final in the Silent Stiles trilogy - enjoy! When there is nothing left, when literally all hope is gone. Do you break, shattering into a million pieces, or do you get even?


_**Alright, final story! Thank you all for reading and giving me motivation and love that helped propel this forward. **_

_**I must warn you though, this story is DARK, like, Deathly Hallows dark, so be warned. And there are character deaths, and the whole shebang. Its war after all. Anyway, hope you enjoy and keep reading! **_

I honestly don't remember going back to base camp, or should I call it home? Either way, upon entering Deucalion was standing before me, I could only imagine what I smelled like. And by that point, I really didn't care. I mean, I remembered.

I remembered breaking, being locked in a hospital, lying on a bed, day after day. Forgotten.

I remembered dying.

I remembered coming back to life, scared, and alone. Because even my dad abandoned me by that point.

I remember running.

I remembered Nara.

I remembered.

And even though a small part of me hated Deucalion for hunting me, press ganging me into his pack. At least he wanted me. Unlike Derek, unlike everyone else in Beacon Hills. The smell of mint and thyme warned me of the twins unsteady approach. Once they were beside me, I signed.

'Burn them all.'

Deucalion smiled.

A Month Later…..

Jackson was the first to go, he was vain, believing that he could combat anything and everything. I let Lydia find him, hanging, in his living room.

Coach was next. The man who thought I was nothing but a joke, a free piece of equipment for the lacrosse players to lob balls at. My dad found him, with the net of the lacrosse goal stringing him up, his head was barely attached.

What better way to win a war, than to kill the limbs, then the heart? What better way to clean an open wound then force out the puss. In this instance the puss just happened to be people.

I believe Deucalion was proud of me, I mean, none of the other alphas were as brutal. And I knew the area better than any of them. Jackson was to weaken the pack, Coach was to weaken the morale and the town.

I quickly learned to ignore the twinge in me when I saw someone hurt, I popped a few pills when my head threatened to overwhelm me. I didn't care anymore.

Lydia was next.

It wasn't that hard to find her, considering she seemed to have developed a knack to end up where bodies were. So, all we had to do was to kill a life guard or two, and she seemed to sleepwalk right into our territory. But what I didn't expect was for that scream. It pierced even my dead ears. It rang through the copper stained air, and forced those who could hear to their knees. That is when I figured out what she was, a banshee. So, for a moment I debated on giving her the option to go with the pack, because she could be a wonderful warning system. But then again, she avoided me, and publically embarrassed me, more than once through the years, needless to say that my want for her to be a part of the pack disappeared quickly.

Her big doe eyes looked at me, tears were threatening to fall. Staining her face, no, not staining, melting it. Melting that perfect imagine – making her normal – ugly even. Good, let the world see her for what she really was, an ugly, cruel teenager who did not care for those 'below' her station in the hierarchy of school. I made sure those who came along with my hunt wouldn't interfere, this was mine, she was mine to kill.

Have you ever tasted something so wonderful, something so perfect, that you crave it – even though you have no idea what it is, you want it, yearn for it, and it can sometimes drive you crazy. Well, I yearned for her, even though I never had a taste, if you will, but this was the second best thing.

I had her cornered, there was an old supply shed, it housed broken floatation devices, popped beach balls, abandoned toys, how perfect. I held my perfectly carved dagger, arm poised to thrust down, and into that heaving chest. But, I was interrupted.

Peter Hale, Derek Hale, Scott and Isaac were standing behind me, they seemed to be gearing up for some long winded heroic speech about how this was wrong, that there was still good in me, or something like that. What malarkey. Thankfully I didn't have to try to follow them, because the muscle that came with me – I really needed to learn their names one of these days – attacked. Or really, they more like pounced on them, like overeager puppies. Deucalion was tired of the Hale pack, and didn't want Scott or Derek any more – he just wanted them out of his way. So, whoever was able to take them out, would be rewarded.

With the distraction being taken care of – I turned my attention back to the item at hand, only to curse. She ran.

I swung around and quickly scanned over the fight, searching, searching – THERE! Scott was trying to guide her to safety, he could try, but it wouldn't work. But it was a cute effort. I sprinted to them, slipping on the damp concrete. As I neared, Scott turned and his eyes flashed red – well now, that was new.

"Stiles, don't make me do this," he said.

Or at least that's what I imagined he said, it was hard to tell what he was saying because his mouth was partially morphed and the teeth garbled the translation.

I just brought out the dagger's partner, and stared at Scott with a determination that the old Stiles would be incapable of having.

He lunged, I dodged, and together we fought for what seemed like ages. I was able to get a few cuts, but nothing fatal, unfortunately. He on the other hand was able to get in a good amount of scrapes, and I now had a large amount of skin missing on my right arm. Something distracted me, I'm not sure what it was, it may have been a shoe flying, or a flash of color – whatever it was, it was my literal downfall. Scott had me pinned when my attention wavered for that millisecond.

"Stiles, please – " Scott cried, he had one arm raised, claws extended – ready to strike

I thrust my daggers into his thigh, his response – his claws bit into my throat. The pain lasted for a second, there was so much red –

_In Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital, on the long term coma unit, a lone figure thrashed. Startling the attending nurse who was taking his vitals, she called for assistance, but it was too late. A trail of blood slowly dripped from his nose, thick and glistening, a sharp contrast to his pale features. One more convulsion, and he went limp. Monitors wailed, an eerie mourning cry._

**_Betcha didn't expect that! Hope you enjoyed, thanks for all the support - please transfer all that love and support to my newest story - Another Name for a Rose! Also - if i get enough love for this, I might expand on it! So - who loves me/it?! _**

**_Adieu! _**


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